


Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

by habenaria_radiata



Series: Putting the "Con" Back in Unconventional Romance [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action, Egregious Misappropriation of Scholastic Terminology, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Pre-Time Skip, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Video Game Mechanics, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: Balthus must be a glutton for punishment to rope Yuri into yet another night of ill-fated gambling, but if that's the case, Yuri must also be a glutton for punishment to let him. He's resigned to another unproductive night when a highly unexpected competitor enters the ring, promising a far more interesting evening than he'd prepared for.[route agnostic, takes place after Yuri's C-supports with both Balthus and Byleth]
Relationships: Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Putting the "Con" Back in Unconventional Romance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649116
Comments: 38
Kudos: 300





	Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Cinereous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/profile), who is kind enough to beta all my fics for me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ♥

* * *

"I can't believe I let you drag me here."

He sniffed, irritated, and came dangerously close to plowing straight into Balthus when the man stopped mid-step. The broad white expanse of his back soon became an eyeful of the somehow broader expanse of his chest as he whipped around to face him. "Hey, enough bitching." For emphasis, he punctuated the demand by jabbing a finger right up beneath his nose. "You signed up for this last time, pal. I already told you, I'm not giving up without a win."

Yuri curled his upper lip delicately. "I remember," he assured him, and he swatted the man's heavy, artless hand away from his face for good measure. Swinging around like that, he was liable to damage the goods. "But I don't pretend to understand it. At some point, the only conclusion I can reasonably come to is that you simply _enjoy_ telling me embarrassing things about yourself. Now get on with it, would you? You're holding up the works."

Turning away from him, Balthus eyed the various rows of carved stone before he settled on one near the middle. It was as good a choice as any. The stands were populated so sparsely that they had their pick of seating, more or less. Taking him at his word, Balthus grabbed him by the bicep, his thick fingers nearly covering the entirety of it as he tugged him down the length of the row and plopped them down right in the center of the arena. "Alright! Perfect view. Bring on the excitement!"

His voice echoed through the vaulted ceilings. Yuri sighed and folded both his arms and his legs, casting a dismissive eye over the other denizens of Abyss scattered here and there. A dismal showing, really. They'd drawn a bigger crowd at their last card game. Who ever said strip poker couldn’t be a spectator sport? "Oh, yes. Event of the century right here. So glad we could make it."

"Would you shut up? What'd I say about your bitching?" Balthus gestured towards the arena floor where a handful of the fighters were beginning to gather. "Quit your whining and pick your guy already." Then he spread his legs so wide he kneed Yuri in the thigh, both his elbows sinking down to rest over them as he settled in. "I figure I know brawlers better than you. I'm gonna get at least one in tonight, you mark my words."

"Consider them marked. I hope you like the taste of crow, my friend. By the end of the night, I'm sure you'll have had your fill of it."

He inched away from him until Balthus's knee was no longer digging into the flesh of his thigh. He tended to bruise easily, which was a decidedly niche market. Not that his companion noticed. At all. Yuri could see him eyeing each of the fighters with an ill-hidden spark of hope in his dark gaze that one of them would be his ticket straight out of eternal loserdom. Poor bastard. Yuri didn't even bother studying any of them; he had the distinct feeling that he could do little more than pick the opposite of whoever Balthus did and still maintain his unblemished winning streak. Whatever he’d done to offend Lady Luck, she nursed one hell of a grudge over it.

"There he is. That's my man," Balthus decided, lifting one of his arms and pointing out a perfectly unremarkable specimen near the very edges of the arena. Already bored, Yuri looked away from him in favor of examining his smooth fingernails. "Callin' it now, he's the one. He's gonna come out...on..."

He leaned back so violently Yuri could feel the rush of displaced air against his skin. The look of open shock on his face was as stupid as it was endearing, but before Yuri could actually follow his gaze to see what had him so taken aback, Balthus smacked the back of his hand into his chest hard enough it knocked the wind out of him.

" _What_?" he snapped, shoving the man’s arm away and rubbing his sternum with a slight wheeze. "Use your words, for fuc-"

The words dried up on his own tongue just as quickly when he lifted his head to see a familiar figure approaching the center of the arena, kicking up dirt beneath the thin sandals strapped to her calves. Her extremely distinctive outfit was nowhere to be seen, but there was no mistaking that equally distinctive face. It was about as expressive as a mask carved from marble.

"The hell is the professor doing here?" Balthus mumbled, rubbing at his jaw. "I thought she was more of the...sword-y type, not the fisticuffs type."

"She’s exactly the sword-y type." Yuri leaned forward, every bit as baffled by her presence as Balthus was.

"Maybe she came to watch too?"

"Don't think so."

Of course she hadn't. He watched her take her place outside the 'ring' designated with a square of powdered chalk dusting the ground. Beside him, Balthus folded his arms and frowned deeply, his eyes cutting over to Yuri's face. "You don't really think she's gonna fight, do you? I didn't take her for a brawler. She's a tough lady, but..."

Yuri was loathe to admit that he hadn't either, so he didn't. He narrowed his eyes and pressed one arm against his folded legs, his chin coming to rest atop his knuckles. Those ridiculous tights she always wore went surprisingly far in obfuscating just how muscular her legs were. Bared as they were now, it was much easier to see, and thin slivers of white scars were visible across her thighs and her naked arms. It would take an act of pure denial not to recognize that she was dressed like the other fighters. Tight, tan shorts without pockets stretched around her hips, leading up to a tract of bare back that ended at the edge of her sleeveless top. When she lifted one arm to rub at her wrist, he could see that her knuckles were bandaged.

The officiator entered the ring, and he gestured with two fingers for the first fighter to cross the threshold behind him. A smattering of cheers erupted that died down the instant the officiator pointed again, this time beckoning the professor to stand across from him.

"Eesh. Tough crowd," Balthus whispered loudly.

If she even noticed the chilly bulwark of silence that greeted her, she did nothing whatsoever to acknowledge it, like it was entirely beneath her attention. Abyssians did not care for surface-dwellers about as much as this surface-dweller didn't care about their opinion of her. Her face was smooth and impassive, and even from this distance, he could see that she did not so much as blink when she locked eyes with the fighter opposite her.

"You know the rules. No weapons, no biting, no eye gouging. Fight continues until someone taps out or goes under. Got it?"

Byleth nodded once, her dark hair bouncing. She'd bound it up into a ponytail at the back of her skull, but some of the pieces were so short they sprayed out in a vertical fan above the rest.

Adorable.

The officiator's hand sliced through the air before he shimmied backwards out of the ring, leaving the two to face off. Balthus chewed at his lip and leaned forward further, his fingers spreading wide around his knees. "Do you think she can even win?"

He pulled a face and glanced at him sideways. "Like I'd tell you that."

She had to have a reason for being here. He didn't know an awful lot about her, but he was well aware that she was a tactician with a reputation for having never lost a student. Yuri knew better than to assume any sort of kinship with anyone at all -- not without evidence -- but if there was one aspect of himself he recognized in her with crystal clarity, it was that she wasn't the type to play a hand she wasn't damn sure would win.

"C'mon. Games aside. Yeah, yeah, people like you two are smart and clever cookies, but is that really gonna be enough to get her through the gauntlet? These guys are pretty beefy."

Yuri tilted his head again and watched her, motionless, her feet planted in the sand and her gaze following her opponent while he curled his arms and advanced towards her. For all the man’s surface bravado, he was very obviously uncertain how to handle the situation, his arms darting out only so far before he'd second guess himself and pull back before he actually hit her. Yuri had to assume he was new around here.

He turned back toward Balthus and flicked one of his hands. "Why don't you tell me what you think?"

"Ugh, you and your damn mind games." Balthus squinted, his brow furrowing. "Screw it. I'm gonna put my faith in the professor. That means you take the other guy."

Yuri scoffed immediately, unfolding his legs and flattening both his feet against the stone. "Fuck that. You know I don’t make sucker's bets."

As one, they turned their attention back to the fight that was not much of a fight so far. Not even the crowd seemed to know what to make of it. The only sound filtering up to them was the shuffle of disturbed sand where the man circled Byleth, her arms loose at her sides and her legs slightly bent.

"Someone throw a punch already!" a voice yelled from near the bottom.

That seemed to break whatever spell had him too afraid to hit a woman. He rushed forward, throwing his thick arm in a wide arc and aiming straight for her head. Yuri's breath caught in his chest, his own face already stinging with the phantom blow that was mere inches from connecting with hers.

Byleth moved so fast he could barely make out what happened. She bent to the side, her arm striking out and up with the sinewy force of a snakebite. He didn’t see it land, but the bone-crunching crack was indication enough. When she stepped away, the man was flat on his back and still as a stone.

Yuri blinked several times.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Balthus punched at the air in glee, his features twisting back and forth between shock and delight until he finally settled on the latter. "Holy _shit_. Hell yeah! Go professor!"

She didn't seem to hear them, or anyone in the crowd at all. She watched, unmoved as the officiator slid down beside the prone body of her opponent, his fingers groping at his neck. Out cold, but not dead. She'd definitely shattered his jaw. A couple of healers came to drag him out of the arena and get him fixed up, his limp arms dragging shallow trenches in the sand.

Byleth didn't appear to even remember where she was until the officiator grabbed her wrist and hefted her deceptively powerful arm into the air. "Winner: Pokerface!" he called, to yet more cheers and catcalls of approval. Quite the turnaround. This crowd obviously appreciated the spectacle she made, even if they didn't approve of her foreign nature.

"Pokerface...?” Her dark head swiveled toward the man still holding her arm aloft, and she blew her bangs out of her face. “Please don't make that a thing," she said, her brows knitting.

But he ignored her, letting her go and waving for her second opponent to join her. They weren't giving her much of a breather. Byleth shoved her forearm across her cheek and watched him steadily, taking a few steps back to survey this new challenger from a safe distance.

Yuri hadn't the faintest idea what to expect in that last fight, but now that he had a better one, he was insanely curious to know how this next one would play out. Anyone with an ounce of sense would be watching every fight leading up to their own to measure up the other competitors, whoever they happened to end up facing. If this guy was even remotely intelligent, he'd avoid that right arm of hers like the plague. Yuri’s jaw smarted just seeing it in action, and he was sitting several feet away.

He watched them circle each other, unhurried, Byleth's unsettling gaze sweeping across the man. No doubt she was zeroing in on the weaknesses Yuri spotted -- assuming she was a tactician worth a damn, of course, but after their date with the Scorpions he was willing to give her the benefit of that particular doubt. The kid was definitely leery of her arm, keeping his left held up protectively lest she deck him with it and end this fight with the same ruthless efficiency as the first.

But that left another side wide open.

Not intent on making the same mistakes as the one before, he didn't wait around to summon the courage to swing at her. Byleth bent in half, dodging it smoothly and uppercutting with her left. Her fist hammered into his ribs so hard, Yuri fancied he could hear the sound of them buckling from the stadium. The man curled forward defensively, his left arm dipping low and tensing hard to shield the other side of his ribcage in anticipation of a follow-up blow. Exactly as she was hoping for, Yuri suspected.

She snapped upright, and her right fist smashed into the unprotected side of his face. Opponent number two, down for the count.

The instant he was on the ground, it was like he ceased to exist. Byleth turned her back on the decumbent form of the man she’d just laid out and stared up at the ceiling in a way that suggested she found it much more interesting than whatever was going on beneath it. Brutal. 

Beside him, Balthus blew out a noisy puff of air that would sound like a sigh of admiration if Yuri didn’t know any better. He even propped his face in one hand like a besotted schoolgirl. “Maybe I oughta make it a point to go to more of her lectures, eh? I can learn a little something and admire her huge...lesson plans.”

Yuri snorted before he could stop himself and threw him a catty sideways glance. Balthus was waggling his eyebrows at him like a fool. “What, you? Amazing. I never would have imagined the Unrelenting King of Grappling deigning to accept pointers from anyone, not even someone with such ample _curriculums_. Wonders truly never do cease.”

“Hey, now, a king, not a god. What do you take me for? I can show some humility in the name of self-improvement.”

They both fell silent as the third competitor strode towards the arena, cracking his wrapped knuckles. Yuri leaned more heavily on his knees. Byleth had to tilt her head back to meet this one’s threatening gaze, but even still, she wasn't fazed. She turned fully, rolling her shoulders and popping each side of her neck.

It would seem they were learning with each match. He lunged at her violently, more on par with her outrageous speed than the other two greenhorns had been. Byleth had to leap backwards to avoid his fist, first one, then the other. She still had the advantage of quickness, but his reach was significantly longer, and she recognized it too. Good. It was about time she had a semi-decent adversary to contend with.

There was no way she was going to get a punch in without leaving herself open to retaliation, so, naturally, she didn't. Byleth dodged a third punch and spun on her heel, her body twisting and the sole of her foot connecting with his abdomen with just enough strength to knock him back a step. She twisted the other direction, gearing up for a second kick before he pivoted to the side and lurched behind her. He grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked as hard as possible, her head snapping backwards and a surprised cry of pain bursting from her at the same time.

A twinge of sympathy bloomed in Yuri’s chest that was soon smothered by the dark, unpleasant feeling of _I told you so, little surface girl_. Honestly, he was more shocked that it had taken someone this long to start fighting dirty. He had warned her. Personally. She had known exactly what she was getting into when she decided to square off with Abyssians and try to punch above her weight.

Even still, he couldn't help but root for the intrepid young professor, the underdog here in every respect but pure skill. Maybe she was naive for expecting a fair fight from any one of them in the subterranean hovel they called their home, but if she could win despite it? Triumph over the odds and still maintain that fragile curl of optimism she had to have to assume the best of any single person there? Then maybe there was hope for the rest of them after all.

But she was going to have to deal with this first. "Come on," he muttered aloud, frowning hard and clenching his fingers against his thighs. "I've had foreplay rougher than that."

Her eyes opened, and in a split second of utter irrationality, he wondered if she'd heard what he said. For the first time that night, her pale face contorted into a rictus of emotion, but it was the last one Yuri would have anticipated.

Self-righteousness.

Byleth dropped, bending her knees and swinging with her entire torso. The point of her elbow smashed straight into his solar plexus, folding him in half like a piece of paper. The savage grip on her hair loosened, and she lifted high enough to do the exact same thing to his nose with an audible crunch.

Yuri grasped at his own face on instinct and watched in naked fascination as Byleth's arm whipped around to grab his hair and shove down with all her might, her knee coming up to meet his face in the middle. If his nose wasn't already broken, which he strongly doubted, it was definitely in pieces now.

Her opponent crumpled to the dirt floor like a rag doll, and Byleth stood up straight, her face smoothing back into a mask of blank placidity and her arms falling to her sides. A rosy splotch of blood dripped from above her knee like a morbid garter. Still staring down at the motionless form of her victim, she reached up, slid her fingers into her hair, and slowly tugged her ponytail tight again.

She did _not_ like having her hair pulled. Good to know.

The applause was even more thunderous before, and Yuri’s gaze slid away from her to see that the size of the crowd had doubled over the course of the tournament. Word really did travel fast around here. People were still streaming in, too, taking up the empty seats or lingering on the ground, all of them focused intently on the professor and whispering among themselves. Despite his low opinion earlier, it was shaping up to be an event worth witnessing after all.

As opponent number four lumbered to the stage, Byleth angled her body towards him, her eyes making the circuit from top to bottom. Now this was interesting. Yuri wasn't regarded as the lord of the underground for nothing; he’d recognized everyone in the gamut tonight. But this man he actually knew somewhat. The professor was going to have her work cut out for her this time.

He was built like a brick wall, thick and corded with muscle and wide enough to take up whole doorways. Byleth's face betrayed nothing, which did not surprise him. He doubted she ever experienced intimidation for it to show at all.

By now, everyone in the stands was warming to the theme of the evening, that chilly silence from before having melted into something approaching fondness for the strange young teacher holding her own against a bunch of sweaty underground neanderthals. It was kind of cute. A surface dweller she might be, but she'd proven herself to be a sort of kindred spirit.

Every other fight, Byleth had pushed her competitor into the offensive, but this go around, he stood staunch in the very center, refusing to rise to the bait. Physically, he was much slower and much heavier than she was. But she wasn't the only one who knew how to analyze a fighter. They stood at a stalemate for several seconds, staring the other one down. When it became apparent he wasn't going to move, Byleth picked up the slack, maneuvering around him in a loose semi-circle, most likely trying to pinpoint any potential openings to exploit.

He was smart enough to keep his back away from her, moving only enough to turn whichever direction Byleth was facing. As far as Yuri was concerned, she had a fair few methods at her disposal to get through this in tact. She could take advantage of her speed. She could goad him into attacking and wear him down in a war of attrition. Or she could play like the Abyssians and fight dirty. He had a feeling she'd elect to do anything else before resorting to that last one, but it amused him to even picture. She didn’t seem like the type to go for a nut shot.

Evidently she settled on the first one, springing into action and leaping toward him, landing a sharp jab to his abdomen and launching herself back out of his range. Then she fell still, her fingers frozen in a stiff claw and her other hand gripping at her forearm. Oh, Yuri could imagine exactly how that hurt. He absorbed the blow with ease, only offering a grunt for Byleth's trouble. It was about as effective as a bird hurling itself into a cliffside. She was doing her level best to hide it, but he could make out the subtlest twitch of her eye as her hand squeezed tighter at her forearm. He’d be shocked if it wasn’t still thrumming with aftershocks.

Smirking behind his hand, he folded his legs again and sat up higher. "Don't tell me you've met your match already. The night is young yet, my friend."

Luckily, she wasn't deterred. Not yet. She tightened her jaw and advanced again, ducking low and landing a second punch just before his fist took her by surprise right in the side of her face. The sound of it alone was agonizing. The entire audience reared back at once, one low, sonorous " _oof_ " of empathy sweeping through the stands. Even Balthus sucked a sharp breath between his teeth and winced. "You know that hurt."

Her legs nearly gave out beneath her, one hand flying up to clutch her temple where a fresh bruise was imminent. This particular opponent wasn't the type to pull anything shitty like the rest of them might, but that didn’t mean he intended to afford her any quarter. He drew his leg back to kick her when Byleth rolled out of the way in a flurry of sand and bent backwards, her hands flattening to the ground and flipping her back up onto her feet. Frankly, she was lucky it was him. Had it been Yuri down in the ring with her, he might have been tempted to kick sand in her eyes. As would most of them, he'd wager.

She shook her head and blinked, visibly dazed from such a ferocious hit right to the temple. It would be the perfect time to take advantage of her -- which he did, bum rushing her with another punch like a battering ram. His arm snapped outward, but rather than darting out of its path...Byleth leaned into it.

She thrust one arm up against him and grabbed his forearm at the same time she launched herself into the air, one of her long, pale legs hooking around his neck and her other thigh braced against the side of his head. From there, she let gravity and momentum do the work. They spun in a dizzying circle, little more than a complicated knot of whirling limbs until he was flat on his back, her calves scissored around his face and choking the life out of him.

Byleth held him there without mercy, propped up on one elbow, the rest of her body rippling with tension as he writhed in the vise of her grip like a landed fish. The torches lining the perimeter of the arena cast such deep shadows he could see every line of her muscular abdomen. She didn't let go until he tapped out, his hand beating plumes of dust into the air.

She rolled away from him and stood up again, her heavy chest heaving and her hair falling loose from its ponytail to stick to her face.

The cheers were damn near deafening. Everyone got up to their feet in a tidal wave, hands flying into the air and applause shaking the walls. It was mostly a bunch of inaudible nonsense until chants of "Po-ker-face! Po-ker-face!" began to coalesce. Finally, as if noticing they were there for the very first time, Byleth pivoted on the spot to face them all. She was still breathing hard, and her skin was glistening with sweat, but in the face of her new admirers, even she couldn't remain unmoved. A tiny smile twitched across her mouth, and she lifted one of her hands in regard.

She was so damned close to the finish line. She had them _invested_ now, everyone awaiting her final victory on a communal bed of tenterhooks. Just one more. Byleth could do this. He was sure of it.

"Huh. Who's that guy?"

Yuri snapped to attention, his reverie shattering abruptly. He tilted his head, following the direction of Balthus' finger. "Good question." Was this the last challenger? Squinting, Yuri frowned to himself. He didn't recognize him at all. It wasn't as though he looked out of place amid the other Abyssians, but he prided himself on knowing the goings-on of his domain. Stranger danger was a very real concern.

So who the fuck was this clown, and how did he get into this tournament while evading Yuri's notice? Hm. He was dressed like the other fighters, a pair of loose, tan, pocketless pants belted to his waist and the same sandals as Byleth on his feet. It was difficult to pick out much more than that from this distance, but he could see a small smudge of something discolored on his hand. Interesting. It looked too dark to be a birthmark.

Byleth lifted her head in a short nod of acknowledgement, retaking her spot near the center of the arena. She was finally starting to look tired, but considering this was her fifth fight and she was only just now beginning to show signs of fatigue, Yuri felt that warranted being at least a little impressed.

Unlike the previous match-up, this one started off with a bang. The officiator had scarcely stepped out from between them when he blitzed her, his jabs only barely deflected by her forearms. It figured it would take up til the very last fight for her to find someone who could keep up with her. He was out for blood, forcing her back, keeping her too busy defending herself to knock him out cold like the first three.

It did strike him as unfair that he was going into this fresh and Byleth wasn't. He knew she'd outclass him easily if this was her first fight and not the fifth, but such was the nature of gauntlets he supposed. Yuri nibbled at the edge of his thumbnail, his eyes darting after them as they dodged and weaved in a dance of violence, each of them poised and waiting for the other to fuck up just enough to offer up an opportunity.

He found himself wishing the man would trip or something. He was hammering the hell out of her, to the point she could either focus on defending or make herself vulnerable to try for a long-shot.

In the end, he sort of got his wish. Byleth's foot caught on something and slid right into his, catching him right in the ankle and unbalancing them both. With her other foot, she kicked off the ground. She pitched backwards and rolled with it, her spine arching and her hands gliding overhead to catch herself, her fingers spreading across the sand floor. Both her legs snaked around his waist and locked. Hard. Clever of her to use him as an anchor for her impromptu handstand. Plus it made for one hell of a view. Her breasts came dangerously close to spilling down from her neckline.

Her thighs clenched, and she bent her arms and pushed against the ground. She lifted him off his feet entirely, rocking forward and throwing him face-first to the floor to raucous cheers of approval from her captivated audience.

Incredible.

She twisted away from him and struggled to her feet again, gasping for breath. Sweat exploded across every inch of her bare skin, sliding down her arms and legs in rivulets. If she could just end it quickly, she had this in the bag.

"C'mon, Professor," Balthus shouted, cupping both hands to his mouth. "You got this!"

The man recovered in short order, robbing her of the chance to finish it. His face was set in a hard scowl, his eyes blazing, fixed on the professor as she stared back at him and focused on her labored breathing. Yuri's eyes narrowed. That weird smudge had changed shape. A fat drop of sweat rolled down the side of it, exposing a long streak of black in its wake.

Makeup. He was wearing concealer.

Yuri was up on his feet in a flash, calling out uselessly for her to stop engaging and back away. His voice was lost in the din, drowned out by the continued chants rooting for their poker faced professor. They seemed to energize her, if nothing else. Byleth wound up, her arm rolling back and bending, moving to thrust forward when she froze mid-swing.

"...What's she doing?" Balthus asked him.

She was completely still, giving him the perfect opening to advance on her. Yuri watched her, baffled as hell as awareness finally reached her through whatever bizarre fog had her trapped in its grip. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again, and then opened her mouth, an expression of surprise alighting briefly over her face.

Byleth stumbled and leaped back a step from him before he even moved his arm, withdrawing something he’d kept hidden in his pants and slashing at her in a sweeping arc. He could see the flash of metal and a crescent-shaped splatter of blood where he caught her across the chest. It sliced clean through her shoulder strap.

A roar of fury surged through the arena. Boos and jeers trumpeted from the stand while he was bodied by no less than four Abyssians, and the officiator skidded to his knees where Byleth had sprawled out on her back. Yuri took the stairs two at a time, shouldering his way out from between packed bodies and hopping down onto the floor.

He could see the officiator taking her elbow, helping Byleth to sit. "Are you okay, miss?"

She nodded wordlessly, pressing her wet bangs out of her eyes. The cut looked ugly, but it was a shallow one. She had jumped out of the way at exactly the right time to avoid some serious damage. How had she known what he was going to do before he’d even produced the blade?

It didn't matter. As soon as she was on her feet, he and Balthus were right behind her. Her assailant still thrashed on the ground beneath a pile of bodies that were insulating her from any further attempts on her life. From here, Yuri could see yet more of the tattoo where the concealer had melted away. He sneered and tossed his hair.

Dismissing the man, he looked back at Byleth just in time to see her come close to colliding with his chest, her head lifting and her eyes opening wide. "What are you two doing here?"

Was she fucking serious? Both his eyebrows shot up, and he laughed at her. "Well, you see, Balthus and I both live here." Her face flattened, and while that expression was far from foreign for her, he got the impression that this particular flavor of it was one of frosty unamusement. Tough shit. He had far more of a right to ask her that than she did. "Incidentally, you took the question right out of my mouth. But I'll save it. For now. You look like you could use some medical attention."

Byleth paused, her gaze flickering down to the open wound across the top of her breast. For being as shallow as it was, it was bleeding pretty decently. "...I'm fine."

"You very visibly are not." Gesturing towards Balthus, Yuri regarded her and cocked his head. "I insist. We can take care of it. And it's the least we can do to make up for that abysmal show of hospitality, don’t you think?"

Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly, and she shook her head. "You don't have to make up for anything. I expected something like this."

That...stung, strangely. It shouldn’t have. He was the one who had told her it was dangerous here. Still, Yuri reared back from her, his face collapsing into a frown. "Wow. I realize that we openly espouse underhanded tactics, but I think you and I can both agree that bringing a knife to a fistfight is a little beyond the realm of a dick move."

He wasn't sure if it was his outrage or his words that had her so entertained, but either way, she graced him with another of her vanishingly rare smiles. "We can agree on that. Sure."

"Good. Just let us get you patched up. Unless you're absolutely adamant that you make your victory walk back to the surface free bleeding the whole way."

She still looked unsure, but logic won out eventually. He knew that she knew that he made a valid point. There was no reason for her to scandalize her sweet little noble students when she had two perfectly adequate healers standing right in front of her and offering their assistance. Byleth nodded and allowed them to usher her away from the arena. They weren’t too terribly far from the Wilting Rose, so that's where Yuri brought her, steering her into their makeshift tavern and pushing her down into a rickety wooden chair.

"Water," he called, snapping his fingers and sliding down into a chair beside her. The night had finally caught up with her. Byleth was breathing heavily, her shoulders slack and her back slouched and her face pale and slick with sweat.

Someone brought him a flagon of water and set it on the table. Without even looking at it, he hooked a finger around the handle and slid it over to Balthus. "Do your thing."

"On it, boss man." Taking it into his large hands, Balthus summoned his white magic, casting Restore on it and sliding it back in Yuri's direction. He tugged a white handkerchief from his pocket and dunked it straight into the neck, soaking it in freshly purified water.

"How are you feeling? Does it itch? Any irritation beyond, you know, the standard level of pain associated with being flayed open like a fish?"

Byleth snorted and shook her head, reaching up to flick a few strands of bangs from her eyes. "I don't think the dagger was poisoned, no."

Yuri drew the waterlogged handkerchief back out and wrung it out. "Small mercies, yeah?" He didn't bother asking her permission. He pressed the wet fabric to her skin, mopping up the blood and purging the wound of any errant grains of sand or other debris that may have gotten into it. It looked to be a simple healing job. Almost a shame, really. He’d have liked to take his time with this one. Maybe he still could.

His thoughts scattered abruptly when another flagon was pushed across the table toward Byleth, followed by another, and another. She opened her eyes and sat up straighter, looking up to see several of the arena spectators gathered around. "On us, professor. That was one hell of a fight." Blinking, her head dipped down to see all the ale a woman could ever want for. The breath rushed out of her in as close to a laugh as he'd ever heard her flirt with.

The whole of the tavern raised their cups in a cheer for her, saluting the professor-turned-champion. She joined them even, looking almost modest and shy. He'd never seen her look like that before. It was adorable.

He looked away from her, however, his attention arrested by the light hand that closed over his shoulder. Yuri tilted his head and offered an ear to the man. "We got the dastard into a cell. What do you want us to do with him?"

Yuri's eyes cut back over to the professor, occupied as she was with a few of the chattier Abyssians eager to ask if she was offering beatdown lessons. Carefully, he lifted the wet handkerchief from her skin to see the raw pink inside of her wound. He pressed it back down and brought his other hand up, curled it into a fist, thrust his thumb out, and dragged the edge of his fingernail across his throat in a horizontal sweep. The man nodded silently and patted his shoulder, disappearing at once.

Byleth was oblivious to any of this. Her chest was still rising and falling rhythmically, her breathing hard enough to be audible but growing deeper and a little more steady as time went on. She'd recover in no time, he was sure. Yuri drew the cloth back a second time, stained with a patchwork of blood smears, and he tossed it onto the table and reached for her with his empty hand. Skimming the very tips of his fingers ever so lightly across her skin, he used his pooled magic to knit it back together.

For whatever reason, it surprised him how soft she was. Which was foolish of him. She was still a human person, for all that entailed, so it wasn't as if he was going to touch her and feel like he was groping a rock. It just didn't seem to suit her, that her body would give under anyone’s fingers. She'd ripped a path through other living brawlers without betraying the stoicism etched permanently onto her face. It was easy to see why she'd been called a demon all throughout her career as a mercenary.

But she wasn't a demon. At the end of the day, she was just as mortal as the rest of them. She breathed like them, bled like them, and scarred like them, her body a veritable almanac of all the many ways a body could be abused.

At least she wouldn't scar this time. Yuri made sure of that, eyeing the freshly patched skin and running his thumb across the line. She didn't even pay him any mind. Her head was tipped back, and she was drinking from one of the mugs so deeply that a thin trail of ale streamed from the corner of her mouth to drip down her chin. What a barbarian! He was into it.

She broke away from the rim with a gasp of air and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. "Mm, I see what he was talking about now. This tastes terrible."

"Welcome to Abyss, friend. All the creature comforts of an Imperial dungeon."

Shrugging, she lifted the mug again and drained the last of it, her torso tilting in just the right way to lift her chest and bring his attention sinking right back down to it. He could no longer even see where she'd been cut. His eyes followed the smooth curve of her pale skin, all the way down to where he could see the half-moon of dusky peach peeking just above the folded material of her ruined strap where it dangled so uselessly. She really did have a tantalizingly sumptuous pair of...syllabi.

Again, she dropped the cup back to the table and sighed deeply. "Thank you. That feels much better." For a brief moment, she paused, and her blue eyes lifted up to Yuri's face. "If you ever decide you're tired of being lord of the underworld, I think you could make a career for yourself as a nursemaid."

Yuri laughed, warm and genuine before he ruined it with a steely smirk. "Do you think so? I'm not sure I'd fill out a nurse uniform half as well as you," he purred, brazen suggestion dripping from his voice.

She did not react whatsoever. Either she wasn't interested in his flirtation at all, or she didn't even recognize that for being what it was, and both were equally possible. She was a bizarre, attractive, and frustrating enigma. Reading people was his _thing_. He'd yet to meet a person he couldn't manipulate in at least some fashion; not until this woman came dropping into his life. If the world was a library, most people were trashy novels, laid out and spread open for him to peruse at his leisure. Byleth was more like a beautiful leather binding in which all the pages were blank.

He sighed through his nose and stood up, extending a hand. "Shall I walk you back to the monastery?"

"No." Her chair slid back, and she did the same. "I have to go collect my winnings."

"Pardon?"

"My winnings. I bet on myself."

Yuri stared at her. He'd been imagining some noble warrior bullshit. That she wanted to enter the tournament to get stronger, or learn something about herself, or win the approval of his denizens, or maybe even something more devious, like she knew the Scorpion was hiding in wait for her. But no. She entered because she wanted a fucking payday? He couldn’t decide if he was delighted or annoyed.

Just as stricken as he was, Balthus slammed both his hands on the table. "Fuck! I should have bet gold!! Damn it!"

Ultimately, Yuri did escort her to collect all that she'd won, his mind awhirl with equal parts curiosity and irritation and something else he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't until they were alone in the long stretch of stone corridor that led back up the monastery that he cut his eyes over toward her and narrowed them. "Did you really do all of that just for some coin? Isn't the archbishop's generous allowance enough for you?"

Surprised once more, Byleth glanced back over to him. "I really did. Does that surprise you?" She lifted one of her shoulders and looked away from him again. "My class is full of transfers. They won't allow me to accept anymore. I blow through the stipend the church gives me on certification seals alone. Keeping you guys flush with decent weapons takes a little bit more elbow grease."

That information was news to him. "You're joking. You're expected to fund the convoy yourself?"

"I am."

How absurd. The church was hardly hurting for gold, but they couldn't even outfit the noble brats themselves? Byleth was more dedicated than he'd realized.

They were silent the rest of the way back, the drip of water from the ceiling and the rush of it from further away keeping them company instead. Just as well, really. Byleth was wiped out. Her eyes were heavy, her pace sluggish and her feet dragging a bit. She didn't perk up until they finally came upon the moonlight spilling out onto the stone from the crack in the wall. Rather than leap through it like a portal to paradise as he'd halfway expected, Byleth turned to him. "Thank you for the assist. Whatever I can do in exchange, let me know."

"In exchange? Nothing."

Suspicion flit across her face in a split second. "You said you don't do anything for free."

"For free?" Yuri quirked an eyebrow and scoffed. "This wasn't free. This was saving my own neck." Her face didn't change, but the cock of her head made her confusion clear. It annoyed him. "It didn't even occur to you how reckless this was, did it? I know you're a smart woman--"

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was neutral, but he could feel it all the way down to his bones that she was being sarcastic.

"-- so I shouldn't need to spell it out for you. I think you know exactly what would happen to Abyss if the monastery's prized professor were to get herself murdered in our company. The apple of the archbishop's eye meeting her grisly end at our hand?" The whole of the underground would be gutted before the next sun could rise. He knew it. Byleth surely knew it.

"Ah. I see." She was peering back at him with something unidentifiable in her eyes, but her posture was not that of someone who felt even a little bit chastised. "I appreciate your point, but you can relax. There was never any danger of me dying."

She said it with such certainty. Like she knew for a fact that the world at large would refuse to let her die. "Don't we sound confident?"

"We are." She offered him a mild shrug and reached up to scratch at her ear. "I promise you. Nothing was going to happen to me. I have insurance."

"Well. Color me intrigued."

She regarded him with a near-invisible smile. "I think I'm a little bit insulted that you believe I'd do something I knew to be that dangerous. Trust me, if I were to do something I knew would put Abyssians in harm's way, I'd tilt my head back for you."

With that, she turned away from him and stepped up into the gap in the wall, bracing one hand on the crumbling bricks. "Good night, Yuri."

He watched her go, a quick retort infuriatingly absent from his tongue. He didn't understand her meaning. Tilt her head back? "...Good night, friend."

It took some time for him to remember the threat he'd left her with the last time they'd parted ways like this.

She was offering her throat.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> This was not exactly the follow-up I had in mind for my last fic, but this is what I produced nonetheless. I treasure all your kudos and comments, and I always love to hear what you thought.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @rad_iata or Tumblr at habenaria-radiata.


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